Activism
Continuing the column “Freedom in Captivity. Solidarity Without Borders”, we have produced a special issue featuring former anarchist political prisoners. The “Not Today, Not Yesterday, Not Tomorrow” team invites you to read a conversation with Russian activists Lev Skoryakin and Denis Kozak regarding their escape from arrest and control by the Russian Federation. The introduction to the text is by Anton Kravtsov from No Future.
How do Russian prisons differ from Belarusian ones? How does one engage in activism in Russia? Read about all of this in the new material from “Not Today, Not Yesterday, Not Tomorrow.”
Anton Kravtsov (No Future)
Right now, there is a feeling that the Russian authorities have taken aim at the left, anarchists, and anti-fascists. The most recent example is the case of Antifa United — a community on Telegram and VKontakte involving Rostov anti-fascists who made merchandise and promoted anti-fascist ideas. They were detained and are being charged with organizing an extremist community. One of the accusations from the security forces is that they allegedly displayed Nazi symbols and incited hatred toward the social group “neo-Nazis.” The young men indeed engaged in direct action, attacking neo-Nazis, taking their clothing with Nazi symbols, trampling, tearing, and ruining it while filming it on video. Obviously, the security forces consider this a demonstration of Nazi symbolism.
I will add that nationalists are always more ready to cooperate with the authorities, and Russian neo-Nazis are no exception. Since the Russian authorities have taken a course toward nationalism, patriotism, “spiritual bonds” (skrepy), and traditional values, they find common ground with modern neo-Nazis. They use them as an unofficial force that can disperse people undesirable to the Russian government.
The state’s attitude toward anti-fascists, anarchists, and the left in the Russian Federation is, of course, negative. There were the 2000s, when the authorities crushed activists, co-opted them, imprisoned them, and some were killed by Nazis; then the movement gradually quieted down. There were the 2010s, when the movement barely manifested in any form. Now, a renaissance of the movement is occurring: both in Antifa, where there are many young participants, and in the nationalist movement, which also has many young people. Anti-fascists and other social groups that disagree with the current course are, unlike neo-Nazis, opponents of the government.
But I wouldn’t call this a war of the State vs. the left/anarcho/antifa scene; the Russian authorities are fighting not just with the left but with any oppositional opinion. Therefore, in Russia, everyone who disagrees with the existing narrative is an enemy.
With the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Russia, many Russian activists left. Those who remained do not organize direct actions or rallies because they are suppressed in Russia. Activists are underground, and this underground cannot be made active right now. Rather, these are actions for which there will be no “blowback,” such as “Food Not Bombs,” which are not yet being dispersed.
I would name the most relevant cases among anarchists at the moment as: Azat Miftakhov, Antifa United, the “Network” case, and the persecution of anarchists in Chita.
What I would wish for political prisoners and activists: first and foremost, to preserve yourselves. In these difficult times, we understand that the struggle and those against whom the activists are fighting—this hydra is stronger—and throwing oneself into this struggle alone is foolish. The machine will digest you without noticing. You need to take care of yourself, show solidarity with like-minded people, and participate in protests that won’t lead to prison. It’s not worth throwing Molotov cocktails at police stations alone—that only leads to property damage. Rather, now is the time to go into the shadows and work there, not to post stickers and slogans in the hope that laypeople will notice and “understand everything.” Support political prisoners and, of course, each other.
Lev Skoryakin was detained for a street action against the FSB. He was sentenced to 5.5 years in prison. Lev was lucky: he served only a third of his term. After his release, Lev emigrated from Russia to Kyrgyzstan, but even there, security forces caught up with him. Lev was detained again for 3 months. Now Lev lives in Berlin.
Lev Skoryakin, Russian anarchist
“In Russia, I was placed on an international wanted list…”
I am a former activist of the now-defunct organization “Left Block.” It was a group of libertarian-left activists. We engaged in street activism and propaganda by deed, using our own example. We mostly did agitation and propaganda actions, and also helped people solve social problems, such as: dismissals from work without explanation or evictions from dormitories.
At the end of 2021, several people from the “Left Block” decided to do an action: unfurl a banner near one of the FSB buildings and light it up with flares to express their attitude toward the activities of “law enforcement” agencies and FSB officers. The security forces decided that I organized this action. I was given 5.5 years in prison for hooliganism. Initially, they wanted to charge me with extremism, but at some point, the investigation removed the political context from my case. It went from “hooliganism with political motives” to just “hooliganism.” Since there is no political motive, there is no extremism.
The most important item on the agenda for activists in the Russian Federation is the war and the attitude toward it. Many organizations and activists have diverged in their vision of what is happening. There were many unspoken disputes, but sensible activists are trying to counteract the war.
But with each passing month, protesting becomes harder and harder due to restrictions: persecutions and long sentences. I won’t give an exact number of political prisoners, but their number has increased recently because of the war. Previously, they were participants in the “Bolotnaya case,” Navalny supporters, and anarchists. Now, every second person who wrote a comment on the war that the security forces didn’t like is in prison, and there are many such people. At this rate, the category of “political” prisoner will soon reappear in prisons.
How many anarchists are among the prisoners in Russian jails? Many, according to my observations. There are activists close to anarchists, and there are those who do not identify as anarchists but are involved in activism, so it is difficult to calculate the exact number.
The most prominent anarchist cases in Russia are the “Tyumen case,” the Azat Miftakhov case, and the case of the “Siberian anti-fascists,” who are accused of terrorism, similar to the “Network case.” Recently, a left-libertarian activist—I wouldn’t call her an anarchist, but she’s close to the ideas—Darya Kozyreva was detained for a poem about Taras Shevchenko. Egor Balazeykin said he holds libertarian ideas. Egor is a 16-year-old youth whose life was ruined for trying to set fire to a military recruitment office. “Solidarity Zone” supports many imprisoned anarchists, for example, Alexei Rozhkov. He had a case similar to mine; he was also taken out of Kyrgyzstan. Ruslan Sidiki—he has several episodes; he carried out some effective actions.
If we subtract the three months in Bishkek, I spent a total of 9 months in detention. In total, I served a year, but the 3 months in Kyrgyzstan is a separate topic. I was in two Moscow SIZOs (remand prisons). One was Kapotnya, which used to be the “blackest” center in Moscow, meaning mobile phones were available, the “brotherhood” was there, and corruption flourished. But before COVID-19, it was made “red” (state-controlled), and they still treat everything through the lens of quarantine. They keep you for two weeks in quarantine before letting you into a cell. But this is done to get to know the prisoner better—who they are, what their interests are, etc. The second SIZO was Butyrka. Butyrka is one of the oldest prisons in Russia. Nothing changes there. It has a partial regime, but also a partial “black back-door”—that’s what they call it when there are arrangements between the administration and the “brotherhood.”
The attitude toward political prisoners in Russian prisons varies, but I would divide this question into two parts: how the convicts (zeks) treat them and how the administration treats them.
The administration generally treats them normally, trying not to pressure or break them. Because who is a political prisoner? It’s a person whom a lawyer visits more often; it’s a person protected by the public. Someone who, if anything happens, will raise such a fuss that it won’t be sweet for the prison administration. Therefore, they are most often put on “extra monitoring”: “regime violations,” “prone to…” and, of course, they are deprived of letters. They usually aren’t put in the general population, but there’s a nuance: because of the article the prisoner is charged with, they might be sent to a general block. That was my case; although the case was political, the charge was hooliganism. And hooligans are mostly shoved into the general block, not the special block. Although lately, they’ve started to distinguish regular hooliganism from political hooliganism and house them in the special block.
Attitude among criminals: you are treated with respect not only because you shake the regime within the prison walls, but also on the outside. It is considered honorable when a person goes to jail for their ideas and is ready to suffer for them.
But there are also those who simply think it would be better to make money than to engage in “nonsense.”
The fact that political prisoners are not placed in the general population shows that the administration pressures them and tries to separate them so that no one communicates with them and they don’t influence anyone. This is the first form of pressure. The second, which I already mentioned: they can put you on a watch list, read letters more thoroughly, and naturally, isolate you completely, not deliver letters, and send you to the SHIZO (solitary punishment cell) for any reason. For example, Navalny and Yashin, who are not anarchists, were constantly sent to the SHIZO. Among anarchists, Azat Miftakhov is a clear example of someone who was sent to the SHIZO even for forgetting to put on a jacket or putting it on at the wrong time. This is a pure formality, but it serves as a basis to send a person to the SHIZO for 15 days.
I left for Kyrgyzstan after the investigation in Russia ended and my restrictive measures were changed; they couldn’t keep me in prison anymore. Let’s call it a legal fluke. They wanted to extend the detention, but they messed something up in the case, and my co-defendant and I were released under a travel restriction. But after a while, knowing the habits of “law enforcement” agencies, we decided not to tempt fate and flee. My co-defendant went to Europe, but I didn’t have a foreign passport, so I had a choice: Armenia, Kazakhstan, or Kyrgyzstan—I chose Kyrgyzstan. There, surveillance cameras and the “Safe City” code (similar to the Russian one) were already operational, and I got caught a second time. But I served three months and was able to get out and successfully emigrate.
Bishkek is not Russia, it’s Kyrgyzstan. That’s a separate conversation; they don’t try to isolate politicals from the general population there. My case wasn’t in Kyrgyzstan but in Russia, and I was on an international wanted list. So, they didn’t really have a reason to isolate me. But if I had gone against the political authorities of Kyrgyzstan, I would have been held separately. As it was, I spent three months in the general block.
In Kyrgyzstan, so-called prison “concepts” (subculture rules) are still strong, not only among criminals but in everyday life, which is not surprising since the population is small and many have relatives in SIZOs or camps.
Therefore, until recently, there was practically no “regime” in Kyrgyz prisons. At most, there were morning and evening checks—purely formal—as well as searches, also formal—everyone knows when they will happen. Но recently, the President of Kyrgyzstan, along with the GKNB, liquidated a local “thief-in-law,” Kamchi Kolbaev. After a while, they began tightening the screws in the camps, including the SIZO in Bishkek.
Human rights organizations influence the situation in the colonies to some extent. At least now, people aren’t being tortured, beaten, or raped in the colonies. Advocates occasionally visit prisoners to check on their conditions, but it’s clear that in recent years, they are also facing crackdowns. Of the organizations that fought for human rights in prisons, all the sensible people have been dismissed. Now the main responsibility lies with lawyers and public figures, because the state has managed to co-opt the structures that dealt with the rights of political prisoners.
What happened then, I still don’t fully understand, but I managed to evacuate from Russia to Germany.
I was effectively snatched from one country (Kyrgyzstan) and brought to Russia, where I was tortured at the airport, put in a SIZO, and released after a few months with a fine. I still don’t understand what that was. Formally, I was clear before the law, and there were no obstacles to leaving, so I ended up in Germany.
Throughout the journey to Germany, human rights activists helped me. The list of those who helped is impressive—Vyvozhuk, inTransit, OVD-Info, Rapid Unit, and many others. It’s funny that both times I left Russia, I made it out on my own, and they helped me once I was out: with tickets and so on.
In Germany, I plan to resume my activist activities in whatever form is realistic. It’s certainly not the street activism I’m used to, but that’s reality. For now, along with other former Russian political prisoners, we are holding solidarity events for those still behind bars. Maybe I’ll join other initiatives; time will tell.
My attitude toward Russia hasn’t changed: it was negative and remains negative. In Russia, things are a mess, of course, but it’s still far from what’s happening in Belarus. Do I want to return? I don’t know, maybe in 20 years, we’ll see. Right now, there’s almost no chance for activism in Russia; they jail you for everything. Но the main thing is not to lose heart; all this will pass, the walls will crumble!
Rostov anarchist Denis Kozak was caught with the help of his sister, a member of the “United Russia” party. Security forces searched for him throughout the region and charged him with “justification of terrorism.” Denis once commented on a post about the self-detonation of anarchist Mikhail Zhlobitsky in the FSB building—that was enough to put him on the wanted list. Kozak was lucky; he encountered security forces who weren’t the brightest and couldn’t track how he left the country. They had to catch him in Kazakhstan—setting up surveillance and involving local colleagues. The latter were confused by the charges against Kozak and apparently thought about how not to extradite him. Human rights activists helped, and after a year under arrest in a republic friendly to Russia, Denis was able to fly to Berlin. You can read Denis’s story below.
Denis Kozak, Russian anarchist
They told me: “You are sane, just a radical oppositionist”
On the day of my detention, I was at a comrade’s house in the Rostov region. At 7:00 AM, I got a call from an unknown number: “Hello, Denis? This is Roman from the police, come see me, please.” I took it as a joke and hung up. I didn’t think an FSB officer, from Center E, a whole senior operative, would introduce himself like a schoolboy. But then I got messages from comrades saying that their homes in various cities were being visited, people were asking where I was and asking them to call me so I’d contact the security forces. I decided to get in touch, partly because my sister called me. She said everything would be fine, “they just want to talk to you about your registration, don’t worry at all, come out, don’t hide, don’t make it worse for yourself.” It wasn’t a stranger calling, but my sister—I believed her. Although she had her own political views and had long integrated into pro-government systems and “United Russia.” Before this, I scanned Roman’s number—I had a Beeline CRM system on my laptop from an old job. It really was Roman Olegovich Kazin, born in ’86, and according to geolocation, he was right across from me. Then I realized it wasn’t a prank. I formatted everything and went out.
They showed me an ID, which I didn’t even have time to read, and shoved me into their car. They said they needed to check my registration.
Because “there are many refugees from Ukraine in Rostov.” When they brought me to the local police department, the security officer walked into the local chief’s office and just nodded his head: “Get out.” And the chief left; he couldn’t do anything! That was the first time I realized how authoritative and limitless the power of these punitive structures like Center E and the FSB is.
When they asked for my phone, it became clear where things were going. Since I had formatted it before leaving, I calmly handed over the device. Then they started asking where I worked, asked about my family… apparently to build a profile to pressure me later. Then they asked me three questions that formed the basis of the case. They asked how I feel about the “special military operation,” the anarchist movement and “People’s Self-Defense,” and Mikhail Zhlobitsky… The interrogation was in the best traditions of Soviet and Tsarist times, as they were interested not in my actions, but primarily in my political beliefs. Fortunately, there is the famous Article 51—you have the right not to testify against yourself or your relatives—and it really worked in some moments. I denied that I administered “Anarchonews” and other communities. I was held for about 6-7 hours, not allowed to call or use legal aid, and no protocols were given… But the funniest thing—after all this, they let me go. They told me, “Go home, house arrest, people will come to you.” And that was it; I sat at my parents’ house waiting, and they allegedly couldn’t find me for a long time. Why?
Well, our law enforcement officers are a bit slow; they couldn’t find me because they were calling the number of the phone they had confiscated.
They were almost ready to put me on the wanted list, while I was just sitting at my parents’ house, drinking tea and waiting.
In parallel, I began preparing to leave the Russian Federation. Just as I had packed my things and cashed out all my accounts, people suddenly arrived and said: “Come with us, we need to talk.” Interrogations began. At the very beginning, I had a decent investigator. He stated that “we have nothing to do with this, the FSB dug this up, I’ll try to close this case.” He promised to try everything and just asked me “not to act up.” But when his superior and other officers noticed he was treating me well, the investigator was replaced. But he was a good person; he essentially admitted that the FSB was fabricating a criminal case.
But, unfortunately, the FSB is such a punitive structure that no other security agency can oppose them.
After this, I was sent for a forensic psychiatric examination—essentially, to a psych ward. I was interrogated there too, but by doctors. In the end, they said: “You are sane, just a radical oppositionist.” They simply recognized the fact that my case was political and I was a future political prisoner. In a country where it is officially forbidden to persecute for political reasons! This didn’t even annoy me; it surprised me—how they don’t even hide it in our country. In the end, I didn’t decide to prove I was right to this, let’s say, judicial system. Russia is not a state governed by the rule of law, and it is impossible to defend anything. So I decided to leave Russia and went to Kazakhstan.
At first, I was happy to be free, but I had a feeling that I needed to do something, to continue my activities. After meeting some good guys and following the mobilization, shelters began to be organized. My comrades and I also continued to support prisoners and organized solidarity evenings for the prisoners of the “Tyumen case,” who are being repressed for nothing at all. But around January, my shelter was placed under surveillance. The Ministry of Internal Affairs, FSB, and other Russian government structures told their Kazakh colleagues that “there is information that a gang of terrorists lives here.” On February 9, 2023, Kazakh security forces simply walked into the apartment, woke me up, and took me to the station, from which I did not return.
My release was due, primarily, to the work of excellent Kazakhstani and Russian human rights defenders, including employees of the Kazakhstan International Bureau for Human Rights. They secured my release through the Republic of Kazakhstan’s law on refugees.
According to it, persons seeking asylum are prohibited from being deported or returned to the border. Especially if they face persecution for political reasons. I was also supported in the SIZO by anarchists and anti-authoritarian leftists. Even though the left movement is fragmented, I noticed solidarity among those who supported me. From my detention until the very end, many comrades were with me, providing various support. This included financial support so that I could stay in the remand prison with at least something.
Now I am in Germany, and my only plan is to meet local representatives of the anarchist movement and talk with them. I also plan to join the left community of emigrants from Russia. And after that, I’ll try to do something more, to keep moving. I believe that one needs to continue their activities, to fight, and, even in emigration, not to forget one’s roots, not to forget the nightmare that is happening in Russia. We need to support the huge number of political prisoners, including anarchists. We need to gradually develop various horizontal social mutual aid initiatives.